Noblesse Oblige: A Cousland Codex Depository
by College Fool
Summary: Aedan Cousland changed the world and was many things in his life. Hero, King, lover, father, savior, destroyer, legend. In time, though, even his memory would live on in the scraps of codex entries. Open this anthology and see what he was, and was not.
1. Hostage Taking

I finally succumbed and have written more Dragon Age shorts, these for Aedan Cousland, a man of his times and nation, and not simply an American in funny clothes.

Just who was King Cousland? Was he a good man? A monster who should have been locked away? A great ruler, or hidden conspirator? Draw from it what you will.

* * *

Codex 1: Amaranthine Conspiracy

_A copy of a handwritten letter from the Warden-Commander of Ferelden to his Amaranthine vassals following the assumption of Grey Warden control of the Arling._

* * *

Bann Esmerelle,

Greeting and salutations from the Vigil. I send this letter  
to you as an offer of peace from myself: though pleasantries have never been  
amiss, I fear that our first meeting was not a satisfactory one. Though in  
these weeks no duty of yours has been anything less than appropriate, my order  
and your house remain strangers, unfamiliar and unconnected despite our common  
cause. As the Arl of Amarathine, and as the Warden-Commander, I fear what such  
distance may lead to.

I understand the difficulties this situation places on you.  
Though no crime lays connected with your name, you were once close associates  
with Arl Howe, a man who was an open and vicious enemy of myself and my order. This,  
unfairly, puts a certain distrust in the air between us, and between you and  
those who had been vocal opponents of the late Arl. And I know that even the  
Grey Wardens, which have so long tried to remain sincerely neutral, keep many  
secrets that arouse suspicion. I am not  
so unfamiliar with these lands to know the divisions that linger between the  
Banns who had or had not sided with Loghain, with the Wardens, or with the  
previous Arl.

This suspicion of all our sincerities, this ignorance of each  
other, must not be allowed to fester. Ignorance breeds suspicion, and suspicion  
breeds conspiracies against one's friends. I would be amiss in my duties if I  
did not seek to redress this error for the sake of future generations.

You have a son, as I remember. Young, but not so young as to  
not begin his training as a lord, and to succeed you one day. A fine boy,  
similar in age to the progeny of some of your fellow Banns, though I doubt they  
see much of each other these days. But of the age where many noble families  
send them away to gain wisdom in this world.

My Lady, I have an invitation you cannot refuse. Send your  
son to me, to Vigil Keep. There, with the rest of his peers from across the  
Arling, I will see to his education, the tempering of his mind and discipline.  
We of the Wardens will treat him as equal with Lord Eddelbrek's daughter. We  
will educate him of our common history. We will train him to be not only an  
admirable warrior, but an admirable man as well. When his stewardship is  
complete, which may take many years you understand, he will return to you as  
one tempered and respected by the Grey Wardens. And, of course, we have every  
incentive to look after him well: our fate is his fate, and we would no more  
let harm come to him than have any come to ourselves.

This course, while perhaps imposing on your own plans for  
his education, provides many benefits for us all. Your son will be provided a  
superior education and training, and given a unique chance to be familiar with  
the nature and necessity of the Grey Wardens in peace as well as war. He will  
be well versed, even experienced, in the practical aspects of governing when he  
returns and perhaps your next youngest comes to steward. His sword arm will be strong  
and true, and as accustomed to fulfilling his duty as any who comes to us. And,  
most importantly of all, he will spend many years in the presence of his peers,  
befriending and learning to trust and rely on those who would be the next Banns  
of this Arling, and in so doing be rid of all misplaced distrust and  
superstition that the civil war has brought us. All this, and without him ever  
leaving beyond the reach of your letters or occasional visits.

This is, I firmly believe, an ideal way to build trust amongst  
us all in Amaranthine. I have every, and  
let me stress every, respect for your intelligence and foresight as to the  
nature and necessity of this manner, Bann Esmerelle, for who benefits from  
distrust amongst ourselves? None but the Crows.

A retinue of Vigil soldiers will arrive within a week, my  
Lady, to escort the boy to his new place of learning. May you give him your  
best, and I remind you of the invitation to write or visit him regularly.

With all due respect and honor,

Aedan Cousland

King-Consort

Commander of the Grey

Arl of Amaranthine

Hero of Ferelden


	2. King Cousland's Armory

In my Nobless Oblige playthrough, I had the goal of not selling any unique equipment. It was more of a gamer challenge at the start (and it really made me hard for gold throughout the game), but it was interesting on how many trinkets I got to keep.

Then, of course, I had to justify keeping and carting around all the stuff. Here are ten reasons, as I progressed through the game.

This was actually a lot of fun to write: it looks like length creep set in, but in fact it was intended, as a reflection of how more and more thought went into the collection.

* * *

Codex 2: King Cousland's Armory

_The Hero of Ferelden's weapon and armor collection became famous in its own right as a testament to_  
_his travels and connections. Myths about it grew faster than the collection_  
_itself: a romantic Bard's tale says he hoped to gather every weapon in the_  
_world so that no one else might suffer as he had, an Antivan myth popular among_  
_the Crows says that he never sold a single trophy from all the men he killed,_  
_and the Qunari camp tale is that the future King began building his armory even_  
_then, so long-sighted was he._

_

* * *

_

One: Greed

"No," Aedan argued, appealing to Morrian natural sense of  
self-interest. "If we sell such a relic here, we would only get a pittance  
compared to what we could get elsewhere."

* * *

Two: Bribes

After hearing of Loghain's bounty, the last Cousland felt no  
remorse about sending the Chantry-girl's sticky fingers onto the greedy  
merchant's prized Tevinter crossbow.

Fergus had always been a stickler for quality pieces. Maybe  
some guard with the same could be convinced to look the other way for such a  
piece.

* * *

Three: Signet

The man's eyes widened in recognition of the helm Aedan  
wore. "Welcome back to Redcliffe, my Lord!" the peasant greeted, and Andean  
returned it with a well worn grin as the man led him straight to Bann Teagan's  
current residence. Nearly half the village seemed to wait outside, awaiting  
mediation following the tragic attacks, but to a child they parted for him at  
the sight of his helm. Ridcliffe's reward, while not his preferred helm, was always a quick pass to whatever and  
whoever he needed to see. Sometimes, recognition helped.

* * *

Four: Leopard Spots

While no rogue himself, Aedan knew that the quickest route  
to being discovered was in looking as if you were trying not to be seen.  
Instead he strolled with a purpose, tipping a helmet he had never worn before  
today to a guard passing by. Walking right under a wanted poster which had his  
most distinctive Grey Warden helmet covering his face, Aedean's pick-pocketing  
of Master Tilver was lost for just another mercenary moving through the crowd.

* * *

Five: Identity

Let Oghren and Zevran make crude jokes about two men  
polishing their swords together. Let Morrigan scoff, or the others stay  
separate with looks of pity and unsought sympathy in their eyes.

Aedan and the Sten sit back to back, occasionally passing  
materials but never talking as they clean their respective blades. Looking at  
the Cousland relic he held, Aedan understood the solemn Qunari. If he were to  
wake up one morning without knowing where his sword was, would he…?

* * *

Six: Gifts of Consequence

It is now-King Bhelen, of all people, who teaches him the  
value of a personal gift.

"It was a maul favored by my Brother," the Dwarven King had  
said. "May it remind you of your time in Orzammar."

Which brother? The one he framed? The one he had murdered?

At first he wants to throw it away in disgust. He didn't  
ally with Bhelen because he believed his words. But, with a pause, he realizes  
that maybe that was the point. He hadn't allied with Bhelen because he  
believed in him. Bhelen wasn't giving this to him because of either of them had  
been fooled, but rather because neither of them were. And that really was  
something to consider, an almost generous reminder.

Let it never be said that Bryce never tried to teach his  
children to accept gifts in the spirit with which they were intended.

* * *

Seven: Gifts of Coercion

The Grey Wardens always have had a troubled relationship  
with the Circle of Magi. It's not so much that the Circle does not want to  
help, but the Circle feels compelled to consider the Chantry, and thinks things  
through a bit too long and often and against what the Wardens might like. While  
the salvation of the Tower buys much good will and cooperation, it cannot last  
forever on its own.

So Aedean doesn't intend to let it.

The next time Gregoir is about to be reticent, the  
Knight-Commander finds himself being returned a suit of Templar-Commander's  
armor, said to have been recovered from a smugger outside Orzammar. And the next  
time Irving is a bit too cautious, the Wardens mysteriously find and return  
another magical item lost to the Tower during the Horror.

They can hardly arrest him for returning things the  
Abominations likely had destroyed.

* * *

Eight: Gifts of Apology

Some actions can never be taken back, and to apologize or  
admit mistake undermines whatever good came out of it. You must, forevermore,  
be committed, or else make the sacrifice truly meaningless.

For Andean, the Werewolf massacre is one such action.

He never loses much sleep over the loss of the Dalish. He  
has sympathy, but no love, for the Dalish and their isolationist ways, he  
perhaps hypocritically condemns the Dalish clan for never questioning or  
challenging their leader despite their doubts of the true nature of the  
werewolves, and to his dying day he counts the Werewolves as one of the only  
ways Ferelden could have come close to matching the sheer numbers of the  
Blight. Werewolf warfare is something that could change the balance of power in  
Thedas forever, and in Ferelden's favor if it could be managed just right.

But even so, he isn't proud of it. As a Grey Warden, as a  
Ferelden noble, he would do it again, but he isn't proud of it. So when the  
Lady of the Forest gave him leave to scrounge through the Dalish Camp, to take  
what he wanted, he did: Zathrian's ring here, a Dalish artifact here. He  
leaves with a chest full of guilty memories.

And when he encounters the Dalish, a Dalish, again, he isn't  
stingy about returning the belongings of her people. Not all at once, never  
without reason, and never quite enough to cause them to forget or forgive, but  
almost. And it almost soothes his conscious.

* * *

Nine: Gifts of Learning

"You want to spend half the treasury on what?"  
King-Consort Cousland asks, not sure if he heard correctly.

"A University," his wife repeats with all the confidence of  
the first time, as if their pillow talk is the most common sort in the world. "I  
believe we have the need, and the opportunity, to do so. It may not provide an  
immediate investment's return, but it will be advantageous to the nation in the  
long run."

She is set in her ways, as always. He's begun to learn the  
signs. And so has she. It won't be the first time they've fought over domestic  
spending priorities, nor will it be the last: he favors the martial, as  
expected, and she the civil. But she holds her tongue when he steps out of the  
bed, still unclothed, and walks to the wall where he keeps some of his war  
trophies. Their location in the royal bedchamber was a concession on her part,  
but the presence of naked steel close at hand comforts him.

Instead of a sword, though, he lifts down a crossbow she has  
never seen him use before. Without a word he loads a number of bolts into the  
weapon, aims at a well-damaged door, and pulls the trigger once, twice, three  
and then even a fourth time, as bolts fly out faster than any many could crank  
a standard crossbow. She sees he is pleased that she did not once flinch at  
the sound of the discharge.

He holds the repeating crossbow out, showing to her a piece  
of technology beyond their ability to recreate.

"Study this," he says simply, giving the condition for his  
support.

* * *

Ten: The Gift of Legacy

The year, by the old Chantry calendar, is 15:31. Jamie  
Cousland is a young child who will one day do great things. But today, she is  
on a field trip.

Leading her classmates out of the air-wagon, she remembers  
her mothers' teachings enough to thank the mage who piloted them all this way.  
She also thanks the Tranquil who assisted him, though that was a wasted effort  
as always, but it has to be done.

As the teacher lines them up, she takes a look at Soldiers  
Peak. To be honest, it's rather different than what the old story books portray  
it as: a large number of renovations, and many more expansions, have pushed the  
entire fortress from just the peak of the mountain to almost half the mountain  
itself, with a good number of outposts visible on the next peaks on over. Such  
outposts go across the Coastland mountain range: back in the last war, the  
Marches had regularly sent our air-pirate raiders, and Soldiers Peak had been  
the center of countering them.

But that's all old history now: her uncle had married a  
woman from the marches, and she loves her cousin very much. Instead, she and  
the rest of the students are brimming with anticipation as a group of  
tough-looking, but smiling, Ferelden Wardens emerge to guide their group  
through the magical checkpoints that defend the Keep's interior.

As they pass through the fortress, one of the Ferelden  
Wardens, an elf (And when was the last time anyone had seen an elf? Hadn't they  
all bred out by now?) gave them the history of this and that, but Jamie barely  
paid any mind. Like the rest of the children, her blood sang in anticipation of  
why they were here. To see the Armory.

First it had been a war chest stored outside the Keep  
itself, before it had been reclaimed. Then it had been one room, then two, then  
the basement, then expansions.

Now, it had become a legend. The mountain, hollowed out by  
the Ferelden Wardens' Dwarven allies, had expanded the keep, but also given a  
fitting place to store the legendary collection. And they were here now.

A cavern of many, many levels, descending farther down than  
the eyes could see, each 'floor' capable of holding more than one above. More  
armors, more swords, more crossbows and early Qunari arquebusiers and magical  
rings and staffs and everything that had come to Ferelden and the Wardens'  
possession since the King, all kept preserved by the magical fields strengthened  
by the thin Veil to the fade.

And this was what they could see, a collection constantly  
added to and organized. Elsewhere, everyone knew, the Wardens kept the _really _dangerous stuff, the magics  
and technologies and things that would be studied in secret, understood, and  
then one day stored for when they were needed.

Jamie Cousland would know this, because today she would be  
told it. Separated from the group by chance and accident, lost on one of the  
many levels awaiting her recovery, she realized she was not alone. A spirit, a  
memory of the past echoing across the Veil, stood beside her, looking at the  
armory. When she had overcome her fear, asked its purpose, it had smiled and  
gestured to the rows and rows of materials of war and said one thing.

"I leave this to you," Aedan said, "so that you will not  
need it."


End file.
